


The Payment

by MaxWrite



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, M/M, Mindfuck, very mild Dom/Sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-09
Updated: 2009-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Palthus III, no good deed goes unrewarded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Payment

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch-hit for [Trek Exchange](http://trek_exchange.livejournal.com) 2009.

When the Federation received the request for assistance from Palthus III, they didn't think twice about assisting. The Palthusians were well-known as a peaceful and reclusive race, so reclusive in fact that the Federation hardly ever heard a peep from them. Not a lot was known about them, but one thing that _was_ known was that they had some very interesting ideas about accepting kindness from outsiders. More often than not, the Palthusians chose not to accept outside help because of their beliefs, deciding that "it just wasn't worth the risk". No one had any idea what that meant. Mission reports filed by other Starfleet officers after visiting Palthus III were far less informative than they should have been, which suggested to Dr. McCoy that those officers had told what he liked to call "creative truths" in their reports. Bottom line: something wasn't right.

It had been several decades since the Palthusians had required outside help. They'd begun dying out mysteriously months ago. The cause of these deaths was as yet unknown, but one thing was clear: the mystery plague didn't affect other races, so McCoy wasn't worried about beaming down to the planet. Starfleet had a vaccine (something normally used to fight off a particular kind of flu virus in humans) that, for whatever reason, prolonged the onset of the mystery plague in Palthusians who displayed initial signs of the sickness. So, Starfleet was only too happy to provide them with an abundance of the vaccine, as well as one of their best doctors for a short period to demonstrate how it should be administered. McCoy went down to the surface of the pretty, flora-covered planet and was escorted to one of the largest hospitals in the city. There, he did his demonstration on several patients, each time allowing himself to be recorded for future reference. And that was that. Simple enough.

"I'm told that I'm to be compensated for my assistance," McCoy said as the head physician escorted him to his ride, which was waiting outside the hospital.

"Yes, Dr. McCoy," she said, smiling over at him. Her skin was a saturated, muddy-rose color and covered in largish brown spots. Her antennae twitched on her head, which McCoy had learned meant that she was pleased.

"That's not necessary. You know that, right?"

"We are aware that you do not share our customs, but this is our way. We hope you will find our selection satisfactory."

"Your selection? What's that mean?"

"We have accessed your desires and have provided what we hope will be a satisfactory scenario for you."

"Excuse me? You've _accessed_ my _desires_? You're gonna have to be a little clearer than that."

"Certainly, Dr. McCoy," she said pleasantly. "Your thoughts have indicated that you –"

McCoy held up his hands and interrupted. "Whoa, hold on just a minute. My _thoughts_? You've been reading my thoughts?"

"Yes."

"Nobody said a damn thing about reading thoughts."

"You were aware that we possess methods by which thoughts and feelings can be accessed, were you not?"

"Well, yes, but I wasn't aware those methods would be used like this!"

"We apologize for our deception. We feared that if you knew the truth, you would not come."

"Of course we'd still have come! We're not barbarians, for crying out loud! We'd just like a little warning before strangers go rooting through our innermost thoughts, and preferably we'd like to have a choice in the matter."

"That is just it, Dr. McCoy. You would not have had a choice in the matter. Your thoughts would have been accessed whether you wished it or not."

McCoy stared at her, his eyes blazing and his eyebrows appearing to be very angry at each other. "Are you saying you would have done it against my will?"

"Not us. The Gods. It is their right."

"Oh, your _gods_. Well, then. They think they have the right to invade a person's private thoughts?"

"They do not think. They know. It is that simple."

"Well, it ain't that simple to us mere mortals, so I'd like a word with these _gods_ of yours, if you don't mind."

"That will be impossible."

"Well, make it possible, because I'm not leaving until I've had my say."

"If you would like to dispute the scenario we have selected for you, Doctor, you are welcome to meet with the Council and they may converse with the Gods on your behalf. An arrangement can be made to alter your scenario if you so desire."

McCoy sighed and rubbed his forehead. Suddenly he had a stabbing pain right between his brows. "Exactly what scenario do you keep referring to?"

"Your payment, Dr. McCoy. It is awaiting your arrival at the Embassy."

McCoy couldn't even imagine what this "scenario" might entail. "And if I choose not to participate?"

"Then the Gods will punish us," she replied with eerie calmness, "for misinterpreting the information they have given us about your desires. Your scenario can be altered if needed, but an outright rejection of the process will anger the Gods. They will also be unhappy if you choose to indulge but are unsatisfied."

McCoy stared at her, her words echoing in his head. The gods would punish them? What did that mean? McCoy began to get a very uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "So, I'll still be free to go even if I don't participate?"

"Yes, Doctor," she said with a gracious bow of her head.

"And what will happen to you? What do you mean the gods will punish you?"

"Our punishment may take many forms and it will not be apparent which form it will take until the time comes."

McCoy frowned thoughtfully at her, his mind racing. "What forms has it taken in the past?"

"That is classified information."

"Uh-huh. What about this mysterious illness that's sweeping across your planet? That have anything to do with your gods?"

Her mouth twitched, but her pleasant demeanor never wavered. "The origins of the sickness are unclear."

"But it could be your gods, couldn't it?"

"The origins of the sickness are unclear."

"But you must have some idea as to –"

"Doctor," she interrupted him, her pleasantness faltering slightly for the first time, giving way to a firmer and less patient attitude. Her antennae stopped twitching. "It is in your best interests not to inquire further. Please..." She gestured at the waiting car. "You will be taken to the Embassy to indulge in your scenario. We hope we have interpreted your desires accurately. If you have any questions or concerns –"

McCoy waved a hand to quiet her. "I got it. Thanks." He nodded a quick goodbye and got into the back of the car, which made no sound as it whisked him off into the air.

The personnel at the Palthusian Embassy were no more helpful than the head physician had been. Each time McCoy tried to ask about the Palthusian Gods and his thoughts being read without his consent, he was shot down with frustrating politeness and told the exact same things that he'd already been; that he could speak with the "Council" if he had any problems with his "scenario" and that his participation would be most appreciated. McCoy had a good mind to just up and leave, but he knew, before the thought had even fully formed in his mind, that he couldn't do that. He had no idea what might befall these people if he didn't cooperate, and his "scenario", whatever it was, might not be so bad. So, he decided to play along, and if things got weird, he'd contact the _Enterprise_.

He was escorted through the Embassy to the suites. His escort let him in, asked if he required anything, and then left him alone without any further instruction. The suite was a very simple, yet beautiful bedroom filled with white linens and hardwood floors. There was a large bed covered in white cotton sheets, and a big window with floaty, translucent white curtains. It looked out on a tranquil, earth-like autumn scene that was clearly fabricated, probably a holographic image. The colors of the trees popped in varying shades of sunny yellow, bright orange and blood red, and hanging from one particularly large tree was a swing made of rope and wood.

There was a soft ticking coming from one corner of the room, and McCoy saw a delicate antique clock hanging on one of the walls. There was a tall chest of drawers with a collection of photographs on it. He approached to have a look; the people in the photos looked vaguely familiar, but certain things about them were off. It was like running into people on the street who kind of resembled people you knew.

McCoy recognized the room. It was one of the guest bedrooms in his grandparents' house on Earth. What he didn't understand was what the hell this had to do with his ultimate fantasy, which made him even more uneasy, because apparently the Palthusians knew something about him that he didn't. Did they have access to his subconscious? Oh, he was definitely not comfortable with that.

McCoy moved around the bedroom examining things and wondering what he was expected to do here. He was about to head back outside, find one of the staff and exchange a few choice words when there was a knock on the door. He froze and eyed the door warily.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Dr. McCoy?" said a familiar voice. "It is me, Ensign Chekov, sir."

Say _what_? McCoy moved toward the door, opened it a crack and peeked outside. Sure enough, there in the corridor stood Ensign Chekov, looking worried as usual. His eyes widened when he saw McCoy.

"Doctor! It _is_ you!"

"What the..." McCoy opened the door all the way and frowned down at Chekov. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," said Chekov, starting to look annoyed.

"Good god, man, you don't know? Get in here." McCoy stepped aside to admit Chekov. "How the hell did they get you off the ship, then?"

"How would I know?" Chekov moved into the room and began pacing. "One minute I was walking through the corridor, going back to the bridge after lunch, and the next – _poof!_ – I am here, being escorted to this room and told that I am to see you."

McCoy watched Chekov in disbelief. His eyes darted from the kid to the bed and then back again, his mind racing. "Jesus H. Christ," he said under his breath. "Chekov, listen, the Palthusians have – Will you please quit pacing?"

Chekov stopped and looked at him. "Aye, sir. Sorry."

McCoy huffed impatiently and then continued. "The Palthusians have a very strange idea of what constitutes an appropriate form of payment for a favor. They read our thoughts in order to learn what we like, rather than simply _asking_ , and then they create these 'scenarios', as they call them."

Chekov frowned at that. "I... am part of your scenario?"

"Let's not discuss that just yet," McCoy said, looking away and starting to pace a bit himself. "The _Enterprise_ will be looking for you. We've gotta get you back." He took his communicator off his belt and tried to contact the ship. No one answered. Not only that, but the communicator itself didn't seem to be functional at all. McCoy stopped pacing and lowered it from his mouth, frowned at it and gave it a shake. "Son of a..."

"It isn't working?" Chekov asked.

"No, dammit." McCoy stalked over to the door and tried to open it. He found it firmly locked. "You have got to be kidding me."

"We are trapped in here?"

McCoy turned back to look at Chekov, who was looking alarmed again.

"Evidently," said McCoy.

Chekov began frantically looking around the room and his eyes soon landed on the window.

"I wouldn't bother," McCoy warned. "It's a holographic image. There's nothing out there."

Chekov went to the window anyway. He parted the gauzy curtains, opened the window and thrust a hand outside. There was nothing there but empty air, but not the kind one would find outside. McCoy heard nothing of the outdoors coming from that window, no sounds of nature, no leaves rustling in the breeze even though the leaves were clearly being jostled as though a breeze was blowing. There was nothing out there, just an eerily real-looking image. Chekov swore under his breath in Russian and shot a fierce look at McCoy. "Doctor, you must tell me, why have I been brought here? Your presence here is clear; mine is not."

"I can't believe this," McCoy muttered to himself. He wandered over to the bed and took a seat, dropping his forehead into his hand. "Chekov, the thing is –"

"Wait a minute," Chekov interrupted. McCoy looked up at him and found him stepping cautiously away from the window, brow furrowed as his eyes darted around the room and continually came back to rest on the bed. "Doctor... what is supposed to happen here?"

McCoy just stared at him. He didn't really need to say it, did he? No. No one needed to say that. Not out loud. Not ever.

"You're part of my scenario," he admitted quietly.

"And your scenario includes this bed?"

If McCoy had been given the choice between death and this conversation, he would have thoroughly considered the two options before opening his mouth again. But as it was, death didn't seem to be on the table, so... He suddenly felt terribly awkward sitting on the bed, so he stood and walked around to its other side, further away from Chekov.

"Look, kid, I know exactly what this looks like, and I can assure you that that is _not_ going to happen." He forced himself to meet Chekov's accusing stare. "I didn't bring you here. This wasn't my idea. I would never, _ever_ , ask you to take part in something like this. You got that?"

Chekov hesitated, eyes darting again. "But... it is something you want, yes?" he asked quietly, his expression softening to one of curiosity.

"Never you mind. Now, let's just think here. There's gotta be some way out of this room. They can't have just locked us in; I was told I'd be allowed to leave whenever I chose."

Chekov's brain was clearly still working a little too hard for McCoy's liking. He was frowning again as he stepped back over to the window, leaned one shoulder against its frame and stared out at the peaceful, holographic scene, apparently having no desire to be near McCoy just then. McCoy couldn't blame the kid, but it stung nonetheless. He leaned back against the wall opposite Chekov and crossed his arms.

He didn't want to think about what the Palthusians had seen inside his head in regards to Ensign Chekov, but that was exactly where his mind went. Those fantasies were his. He felt violated, even dirty, and more than a little like some old pervert. The Palthusians knew exactly what he thought of Chekov and now Chekov had a pretty good inkling of his thoughts too. How was he ever supposed to look Chekov in the eye again?

"Doctor."

Chekov's face was turned toward him now, but he was still avoiding McCoy's eyes.

"What is it, kid?"

"We can't just stand here, we should look around. Check the drawers, try to get that door open and... What is behind those doors over there?"

McCoy followed Chekov's gaze to the two closed doors that he, McCoy, was standing between. "Bathroom and a closet," he said. "At least that's what they oughta be."

Chekov finally moved away from the window. "How do you know that?"

"This room is meant to resemble one in my grandparents' home. It was a big house. Used to visit them for holidays and such. This was one of the guest bedrooms."

Chekov nodded, looking around. He approached the bedside table on his side of the bed and asked, "Do you mind if I look inside?"

McCoy shrugged and waved a hand at him as he pushed away from the wall and headed for the bedroom door. "Be my guest. I doubt anything's in there that'll help us."

He turned away from Chekov and surveyed the door. He retrieved his phaser from its holster and pressed a button, trying to adjust it to a setting that would cut through wood, but it was as unresponsive as his communicator. He jammed it back into its holster in frustration and moved closer to the door. He knocked on it to see how thick it was, and to his surprise it didn't sound at all like the wooden door it was meant to resemble. It felt much heavier than it should have, almost like thick metal. He backed up, aimed his right shoulder at it, took a breath and charged. The resulting _thud_ was unimpressive, sounding as though he'd rammed into a solid steel door. Another attempt clearly would have been futile, not to mention stupid. McCoy glared at the door as he rubbed his shoulder.

From behind him he heard a drawer slide shut. He turned to look at Chekov, who was walking briskly away from the little side table, looking rather pale.

"What?" McCoy asked. "What'd you find?"

"Nothing that will help us," Chekov muttered without looking at him. He headed straight for the closet, opened it and stepped inside.

"Chekov, what was in that drawer?"

Chekov, who was standing inside the modest walk-in closet (which contained only hat boxes of various size and shape), finally glanced back at McCoy with a hesitant look on his face. "I... I would prefer not to say, sir."

McCoy frowned and went for the drawer himself. He leaned over, pulled it open and then immediately slammed it shut. When he straightened up and looked at Chekov again, the kid had abandoned the closet and was headed for what should have been the bathroom, paying McCoy no mind.

The drawer contained various items, each one nestled snugly in a little velvet-lined compartment molded to its shape, and each of a very adult nature; there were plugs and dildos of varying size and shape, other toys that McCoy wasn't even sure how to use, and all of them appeared to be made of some kind of silicone.

Chekov had gained entry into the bathroom, turned on the light and was searching through cabinets, cupboards and drawers. McCoy was perfectly happy to let him do that on his own. He didn't particularly want to face Chekov just then. Morbid curiosity drew him to the second drawer, inside which he found more adult toys, these made of shiny, silver metal, each also residing in its own little velvet compartment. The shapes of these were even more exotic than the silicone toys, most long and narrow with balls or bulbs on their ends, and there were also cock rings.

McCoy shut the drawer. He checked the table on the other side of the bed and found leather toys; restraints, gags, spanking paddles, collars and blindfolds. This was also where he found several little bottles containing lubricants and oils of different scents, flavors and colors.

McCoy shut the drawers.

"Find anything?" asked Chekov as he emerged from the bathroom. He didn't look at McCoy as he headed for a large armoire.

"More of the same," McCoy said as casually as possible. He watched Chekov rifle through the armoire, but there appeared to be nothing in there except white towels of varying size. Chekov said nothing as he poked his hands in underneath the towels and felt around. He finally gave up, shut the armoire's double doors and sighed heavily as he turned partially back to McCoy.

"Find anything in the bathroom?" McCoy asked.

"No. Just bathroom things. Nothing we can use to escape." Chekov put his hands on his hips and finally looked at McCoy. He looked so annoyed that McCoy actually felt like shrinking back from him a little. "You did not ask for this? This... scenario?"

"No!" McCoy said indignantly. "Of course not."

"Did you tell them that you did not want to participate?"

"Yes, Ensign, I told them. Look, what they found in my head is just normal, perfectly healthy fantasies that I can't do anything about. I would never tell anyone about them, let alone _ask_ for them to come true."

Chekov seemed to scrutinize him for a moment and then began to pace again. "So... you are attracted to me."

McCoy rolled his eyes and sat on the bed again, this time with his back to Chekov. "We don't have to talk about this. In fact, I think it's best we don't."

"No, no. Talking about it will be good, it will make it less... weird."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Well, what do you suggest, that we sit here in silence until they release us?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Do you think they will release us if we don't..."

Chekov didn't finish the question, but he didn't need to. McCoy slowly twisted around and looked at Chekov over his shoulder. Chekov had stopped pacing and was standing on the other side of the bed just staring at him.

"That isn't an option, Ensign," McCoy said calmly, but very seriously.

"I wasn't suggesting that I wanted it, Doctor."

McCoy had no idea why that had sounded like an accusation, but he didn't care for it. He looked away again. "Well, neither was I."

"Hmph. I don't think you are being honest."

McCoy clenched his jaw. "And what exactly does that mean?"

He heard Chekov chuckle. "I am here because you want me. Why can you not just say it?"

"Getting cocky now would be a mighty bad move on your part."

There were several seconds of silence before Chekov finally said, "I am flattered that you think of me that way, that is all."

McCoy snorted.

"Should I not be?"

"You can feel whatever you like."

"Would you not be flattered if our roles were reversed?"

McCoy kind of hated himself for it, but the only thing he heard in Chekov's question was the fact that Chekov did not, indeed, think the same way about him. "I suppose I would be," he mumbled.

"Let us say for a moment that the roles are reversed, eh?" Chekov came and sat on the bed too, opposite McCoy. "Let us say that it is me who is attracted to you and that you are suddenly abducted and taken away to a place where you are obviously expected to have sex with me. What would you think of me?"

"I'd think you were a typical horny kid. And I'd question your taste in men."

"You do not think you are attractive?"

"I didn't say that. So, what are you saying, you think I'm some kinda pervert because I'm attracted to you?"

Chekov didn't immediately respond. When McCoy glanced back at him, he found the kid smiling softly at him.

"See?" said Chekov. "Was it so strange to say it out loud?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Just answer the question."

Chekov sighed and spread out on the bed on his side, watching McCoy, his head propped up on his hand. "Not pervert, no. Not even after what I found in the drawer."

"God," McCoy muttered to himself.

"I simply... question your taste in men, I suppose."

"Oh? You don't think you're attractive?"

"Didn't say that, Doctor."

McCoy glanced at him again. Chekov gave him that same soft smile and McCoy couldn't keep from smiling himself, the left side of his mouth pulling upward slightly as he glanced away again.

"So, they will let us go once we have had sex, then?" asked Chekov.

"I suppose. Though that's not what they said before I came in here."

"They told you that you could leave at any time, you said."

"Yeah."

"So, they lied," Chekov said thoughtfully. "How will they even know when we have... I mean _if_ we have done it? Do you think they are watching?"

McCoy hadn't even considered that. His eyes darted suspiciously around the room. "I sure as hell hope not, but no, I don't think that's the case. I don't know how they do it, but someone or some _thing_ can read our thoughts and there ain't a damn thing we can do about it. Been doing it since I set foot on this planet."

"So, they will know from your thoughts."

"And yours too, I reckon."

"Huh. What happens if we don't have sex?"

McCoy thought for a moment, now confused about that too. "This doesn't make sense. They didn't tell the whole truth about their intentions, but somehow they don't strike me as the kinda folks who'd tell you one thing and then lock you up until you obeyed orders. Granted, we don't know much about them, but... I just have a gut feeling." McCoy turned his body to face Chekov more. "Not that they don't have good reason to keep us here." McCoy went on to explain what he knew about the Palthusian Gods, which left Chekov frowning.

"Punish them how?" he asked when McCoy had finished.

"They won't say. But between you and me I think this plague they're dealing with may have been a punishment for something else. I don't know for sure, I can't get a straight answer out of these people."

"What do you think is happening, Doctor?" Chekov asked, eyes big and curious and focused on McCoy. He looked damn good lying there like that, as though he was just waiting for McCoy to slide over and join him. His voice echoed in McCoy's head, saying his title over and over; Doctor. Doktor. _Doktorrr_.

"Uh," McCoy said, coming back to reality. "I'm not sure, but I think these people are at the mercy of these 'gods'. They act like everything's just fine, but there's something else there, something just behind the eyes that tells me somethin' ain't right. It's almost as though they act all bland and pleasant simply to avoid accidentally expressing a real feeling."

"You think they are truly terrified?"

"Y'damn right I do."

Chekov looked very troubled now. He slowly sat up, eyes clouded with worry and staring unseeingly at the bedsheets. "So, then... if we can make things easier for them..." He trailed off and looked into McCoy's eyes. McCoy stared at him incredulously.

"Excuse me?"

"You said it yourself, sir. If we don't do what they have locked us in here to do, things will only get worse for them."

"Are you actually suggesting that we have sex to save the planet?"

Chekov shrugged. "It sounds ridiculous, I don't deny that. But... is small price to pay, no?"

McCoy turned his face partially away and eyed Chekov sidelong. "And you'd be okay with that?"

"If it helps an entire planet, then yes, I would. Is not like they are asking a lot of us."

McCoy's incredulous look intensified. "Are you outta your mind? Did you really just say that with a straight face?"

"Is only sex. I have had sex, Doctor. It would not be my first time, if that is what you are concerned about."

"No, that is not what I'm concerned about."

"Then what?"

"It's not 'only sex', Ensign. Sex is a big fucking deal, and only someone who isn't ready to have it yet would think otherwise."

Chekov shook his head. "It does not have to be a big deal. It is the situation that is a big deal. These people are depending on us." Chekov shimmied closer to McCoy, making McCoy's back stiffen. Chekov's gaze was urgent and worried. "Can we really walk away and leave these people in the hands of these gods, knowing what we think we know?"

"We won't be leaving them defenseless. We can notify Starfleet, tell them what we think is happening here and –"

"And what, Doctor? Starfleet can charge in and fight these gods with phasers and torpedoes? I don't think it works that way with deities."

"We don't even know what these supposed gods are. They might not be gods at all, they might be as simple of some little man behind a curtain."

Chekov frowned. "Man behind a curtain?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. " _Wizard of Oz_ , kid, look it up once we're out of here."

"Doctor, look at me. Look into my eyes, please."

McCoy looked at him and did nothing to hide how disgruntled he was. But Chekov's eyes were big and sad, genuine concern clearly visible in them, and they were already weakening McCoy's resolve. When he tried to look away, Chekov boldly reached up and turned his face back.

"I cannot walk away, knowing what I know," Chekov said quietly. "And neither can you, I know you can't. You are a doctor, you have compassion, you have a big heart." Chekov laid his free hand over McCoy's heart just then. McCoy flinched, but didn't pull away. He wondered if Chekov could feel his heart madly pounding away in his chest. "I know what kind of man you are, Doctor. And you cannot just walk away, not when the solution is so simple."

McCoy pushed Chekov's hand away and stood with a grumble. "It's not a solution," he said as he stalked away from the bed, as far as he could get and still be in the room. "It's a short-term fix. These people will be at the mercy of their gods again soon enough." He stopped at an empty corner. It wasn't far enough away from the bed for his liking, but it would have to do. He leaned back into it and crossed his arms.

Chekov watched him from the bed. The kid wasn't about to give up, McCoy knew that much. That wasn't his style. Chekov was a determined little bugger, which was one of the reasons McCoy liked him so much. Chekov's compassion was another reason. His tendency to fret about things like a grumpy old man in a cute 17-year-old body was another. McCoy never imagined all those things would one day be used against him like this.

Chekov seemed to come to a decision; he put his feet on the floor, leaned over and began taking off his boots.

"And what do you think you're doing?" McCoy demanded from his corner.

"What does it look like?"

McCoy watched Chekov get his boots and socks off, stand up and begin removing his shirt and undershirt. Chekov's slender upper body was exposed so quickly that McCoy was a little shaken. He blinked several times to ensure that this was actually happening.

"Ensign, I order you to put your clothes back on," McCoy said in a dangerously low voice. Chekov only stared at him as his fingers began to unfasten his pants. "Ensign, that is a _direct_ order." Chekov ignored his words and let his pants pool on the floor around his feet. McCoy couldn't keep his eyes from having a look at the bulge in Chekov's snug little boxer briefs. Kid was already hard.

"I hope," Chekov said as he stepped out of his pants, "that your will is not as strong as it appears." He kicked his pants aside and then brought his hands up to his underwear to delicately finger the waistband, toying with it, toying with McCoy, teasing. He canted his curly head, licked his lips and said, "I do not think it is, _Doktor_." His mouth pursed in the prettiest way as he said 'doctor', and McCoy was certain that he was playing up his accent. Fuck, this kid seemed to know him too well.

"You're playin' with fire, son," McCoy said in almost a growl that he hoped was masking how freaked out he was. It took him a moment to realize that he'd uncrossed his arms and laid his hands flat to the walls on either side of him as though trying to push the walls further back, open up space into which he could flee. What he wanted to do was turn into the corner and hide his reddening face and his growing hard-on. It was ridiculous. He felt like a coward. He was twice Chekov's size, older, higher ranking; he shouldn't be this unnerved by some kid.

"I am simply doing what needs to be done," Chekov said as his fingertips ventured underneath his waistband, gliding from left to right, right to left as his hand slid further and further inside. McCoy watched the hand-shaped lump bloom inside the briefs, outlines of knuckles forming against the fabric as fingers curled around hard flesh. The knuckles moved up and down, stroking slowly, as the other hand pushed the front of the waistband down to show McCoy exactly what was going on in there. McCoy stared until he realized he was staring and then quickly averted his eyes, directing them rather obviously upward.

"Kid, this is... you don't know what the hell you're doing," he said, not caring much for the slight breathlessness in his own voice.

"Doctor, look at me," Chekov demanded, his voice a little firmer now, more commanding. McCoy's eyes went down to meet Chekov's before he could stop them. Chekov's gaze was intense and focused. He knew what he wanted and he was coming after it. He stepped toward McCoy until he was barely two feet away and, continuing to stroke his cock with the one hand, he reached out with the other and took McCoy's left hand. McCoy stopped breathing and alternately stared at Chekov's fingers caressing his skin and the hand still stroking his cock.

"You like?" Chekov whispered, pushing his hips a bit forward as though offering himself to McCoy, which, McCoy supposed, was exactly what he was doing. McCoy's eyes swept over Chekov's angular hipbones and Chekov seemed to know exactly where he was looking because he let go of his dick and with both his hands guided McCoy's to rest on his right hip, slowly pressing the fingertips down first and then the palm. He held it there, caressing McCoy's arm, and then slowly slid the hand closer and closer to his crotch until McCoy's thumb crept right into his pubic hair.

"Doctor," Chekov said. "Do you like?"

"You know damn well I do," McCoy said under his breath. He let Chekov move his hand until he could do nothing but wrap his fingers around the kid's shaft. Chekov made a soft little noise that went straight to McCoy's dick and he slid his hands up McCoy's arm to his bicep, stopped there and felt the muscle appreciatively through McCoy's shirt. He moved his face close to McCoy's, began nuzzling his cheek and whispered, "Doktor..."

McCoy held back the beast that had awoken inside him for a minute longer. "Do you really want this?" he asked.

"You cannot tell?"

"I need to hear it. I need you to tell me."

Chekov chuckled softly, his warm breath wafting across McCoy's neck. "The evidence is in your hand, Doctor. This is as hard as it has ever been."

"It's the circumstances, kid, they're completely fucked up and you know it. I need you to say it's okay. I can't... not unless you say it's okay."

Chekov pulled back and looked into McCoy's eyes, his own practically burning with lust. "Doctor," he whispered. "I want you to fuck me."

McCoy's reservations were somewhat appeased, but not quite. He let his fingers explore Chekov's cock for a moment, then let it go, took Chekov by his waist instead and pulled the kid right up against himself. McCoy made his hard-on evident, rubbing it against Chekov's thigh. Chekov turned his face up and closed his eyes and McCoy was so close to kissing him, his mouth hovering right there above Chekov's, barely an inch away.

"Doctor," Chekov whispered again. "Please... please kiss me."

"Leonard," McCoy corrected him, breathing right into his mouth. "My name is Leonard."

"Leonard..."

Next thing McCoy knew he was kissing Chekov hard and guiding him back to the bed. They fell down on it together, Chekov's hands pulling at McCoy's clothes. McCoy awkwardly undressed while trying to continue kissing. Each piece of his clothing was tossed carelessly away, his boots hitting the floor with an angry thud. When he was down to his boxers, he scooped Chekov into his arms and kissed him again. He felt Chekov's hands all over his broad back, felt Chekov's firm runner's thighs grip his hips. McCoy began to thrust slowly against him, frotting through his boxers, and felt Chekov rubbing back. Chekov started making wonderful little noises – gasps, moans and whimpers – and McCoy stopped kissing him just so he could watch the kid. Chekov's eyes were closed, his cheeks were flushed and his mouth hung open emitting breathy, stilted moans. He was beautiful.

McCoy caressed his cheek, not even realizing that he'd stopped humping Chekov, and Chekov opened his eyes and smiled lazily at him.

"Why have you stopped?" Chekov whispered.

"I'm not sure. I'm just... you're quite beautiful," he muttered sheepishly. "If you don't mind my saying."

Chekov's smile broadened. "Leonard, you are being romantic."

"Yeah, well, I believe in romance. That's the kind of man I am. And I can't tell you how unhappy I am that our first time together has to happen like this, under duress."

"But this first time is the _only_ time, isn't it?" Chekov asked uncertainly, his smile fading. "I mean, is supposed to be one-time thing. Unless..." Chekov trailed off, averting his eyes.

McCoy sobered a bit. He cleared his throat and stopped stroking Chekov's cheek. "Listen, Chek – er... Pavel... Does anyone ever call you Pasha?"

That was not what McCoy had intended to say when he began speaking, and he felt as surprised by the question as Chekov looked. Chekov blinked at him and replied, "Yes. Some people do. Why?"

"I kinda like that name, I guess. May I call you that?"

Chekov smiled again. "Yes, Doctor – Leonard. You may."

McCoy slipped a hand underneath Chekov's neck to cradle it as he whispered, "Thank you. Pasha." He gave Chekov a gentle kiss, dipping his tongue into the ensign's mouth. He'd never heard anyone call Chekov Pasha, but he imagined Chekov's family members did; his mother, his grandmothers, his aunts maybe. The older women. McCoy thought the nickname was rather cute.

"What would you like me to do to you?" McCoy asked against Chekov's mouth. "What do you like?"

"I am sure I will like anything you do to me. I just want you inside me."

McCoy shivered slightly at those words.

"But I admit," Chekov continued, "I am curious about the items in the drawers. This is your fantasy so those items are here because you like them."

McCoy swallowed hard. "You wanna experiment a bit?"

Chekov nodded. McCoy pushed away from Chekov and went for the bedside tables. He opened drawers and pulled out a few things, one of them being some plain, unflavored lubricant. He sat up on his knees and held up one of the items; a black leather collar.

"I often picture you in one of these," he admitted. "It's not something I'm proud of, but there you have it."

Chekov sat up, eyes on the collar, exploring it without touching. He then looked up into McCoy's eyes, leaned forward and tilted his chin up, offering his neck.

McCoy's dick twitched. "You're sure?"

"Yes, Leonard," Chekov whispered and closed his eyes.

McCoy fastened the collar around Chekov's slender neck, then sat back and surveyed his work. Chekov sat up straight, with one leg dangling off the bed, his dick still sticking out of his underwear, and he smiled sweetly at McCoy. The collar was plain black, the only silver pieces being the little closure at the back and the hoop at the front where a leash could be attached. Chekov seemed to realize this and he fingered the hoop and bit his lip as he looked at McCoy, his entire demeanor asking "Do you want to?" McCoy definitely wanted to. He located a relatively short leash, the end of which reached Chekov's crotch. Chekov's eyes lit up and he sat up on his knees like an eager, obedient dog. McCoy's head swam with kinky fantasies, things he'd been thinking since the day he'd met Chekov, as he stood and attached the leash, keeping hold of the other end.

"Do you like it?" Chekov asked.

McCoy couldn't quite form words. All he could do was stare and nod. The black of the collar and leash contrasted sharply against Chekov's porcelain skin, accentuating how pale he was. McCoy reached out to touch with his free hand, his fingertips grazing Chekov's smooth chest and bumping over a hard, pink nipple. Chekov let out a shuddering breath, shivering under McCoy's touch.

"May I have a kiss?" Chekov asked. McCoy nodded again, still unable to speak just yet, and Chekov tilted his face up and leaned forward, closing his eyes and pursing his lips. McCoy leaned over and bestowed a soft kiss on his mouth, causing Chekov to let out a little sigh. His hand came up and caressed down McCoy's belly, finally stopping just at McCoy's waistband. Their lips parted and they looked at each other.

"Can I see?" Chekov whispered. McCoy nodded, wondering when he was going to be able to speak again, and watched as Chekov looked down and set his slender fingers to work exposing McCoy's dick.

McCoy suddenly realized how tightly he was clutching the leash and tried to relax. His insides felt like they'd been set to "vibrate" as his stomach filled with nerves. He was about to show his very much 17-year-old subordinate his very hard, very much 31-year-old dick. He'd never felt so surreal in his life.

His cock hardened even more as Chekov pulled it out. Chekov stared for a moment, then leaned in and began nuzzling, nosing at McCoy's cock, rubbing his cheeks and mouth against it, like a cat rubbing something with its scent glands. McCoy almost laughed at the thought that Chekov was marking him.

"How the hell are we gonna look each other in the eye once we get outta here?" McCoy asked, finally finding his voice. He wished he could have said something a little more romantic, but Chekov smiled all the same.

"I will be fine," he purred as he took hold of McCoy's prick and looked up at him. Then he opened his mouth and began licking the head.

"Oh, will you?" McCoy asked. He wanted to sound skeptical, but with Chekov licking at him like that, it was more mildly-out-of-breath than skeptical.

"Mm-hm," Chekov hummed as he took McCoy deeper into his mouth. McCoy pushed his hips forward for Chekov and petted his hair with his free hand, and Chekov hummed contentedly around his length each time he was touched. McCoy was impressed with how far down his throat the kid could take him, and his technique made soft, involuntary noises escape McCoy's throat. McCoy thought about the things he would say in his fantasies, how he would praise Chekov for being a good little slave, how he was making his master very, very proud. He decided against saying such things now. Things were already plenty weird enough, though something told him Chekov probably wouldn't have minded.

Chekov really got into his task and soon he was making wet sucking noises as his head bobbed. His mouth was all wet, and once, he pulled off of McCoy's dick to lick his lips and McCoy noticed a glistening string of spit hanging from his lower lip, stretching out until it broke away. Chekov licked all around his mouth, then opened up wide again and went back to work, but McCoy couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to come just yet, and if they kept this up he most definitely would. He gave Chekov's leash a tug and said, "Up," as easily as if he was speaking to a pet, which disturbed him a bit. He wasn't comfortable treating the kid like a possession, even if it was just play, when the only reason Chekov was even doing this was to save the planet.

But Chekov obeyed without hesitation or complaint. He stopped sucking and looked up at McCoy, awaiting further instructions.

They got Chekov out of his underwear and then McCoy laid on his back on the bed, head on a pillow, tugging Chekov along, making him sit on top. Chekov straddled him, sitting up proudly, cock jutting out and leaking on McCoy's belly. McCoy offered Chekov his free hand.

"Get some lube on there for me, will you, darlin'?" he said, the pet name slipping past his lips as easily as air. Chekov obeyed, completely unfazed, and when McCoy's fingers were thoroughly lubricated, he tugged on Chekov's leash to make him lean forward. He moved his hand around to Chekov's ass where his fingers quickly found what they were looking for, and Chekov gasped and arched his back as McCoy's fingertip teased at his entrance.

"Got any idea how gorgeous you are?" McCoy murmured. Chekov's only response was a shaky moan as McCoy pressed the first finger inside him. Soon, more fingers followed and Chekov was writhing on top of him, throwing his head back and crying out as McCoy scissored his fingers against his tense little ring of muscle. Chekov braced himself on McCoy's chest and pushed back against those fingers, rocking his hips back and forth, rubbing his prick against McCoy's stomach.

"Want you on top," Chekov said. "Please, Doctor."

McCoy barely registered that Chekov hadn't called him Leonard. He was all too happy to drop the leash and roll them over so he was on top, and he continued to finger Chekov's hole, now able to get at his prostate and make him yelp, his body jerking each time McCoy stroked the sensitive little gland. Chekov looked even more delicious like this, his legs spread, pale body wriggling on its back. Chekov took hold of his own leash and gripped it tight in one hand as he squirmed, a string of words McCoy didn't understand tumbling out of his mouth.

"I am ready," Chekov suddenly breathed in English. "Oh – oh – oh, right now, Doctor, please, please... oh god..."

McCoy realized Chekov was about to come a mere second before it actually happened. He pulled his fingers out just as Chekov's body shuddered and a thick strand of come shot out of his cock, landing across his belly. The hard, guttural noises that came out of Chekov as he splattered himself with more come made McCoy's dick jump in his hand as he slicked it with lube and pushed his boxers further down his thighs. He positioned himself at Chekov's entrance as Chekov's body quivered, his voice rising up from his throat in breathy moans that were already beginning to fade until McCoy began to push inside.

Chekov's climax had ended by the time McCoy slid all the way inside him, but you wouldn't know it by listening to Chekov who was still making desperate little noises as his body tried to accommodate McCoy's girth. Chekov's incredible tightness engulfed McCoy, making his own voice join Chekov's, but then Chekov's voice broke, faltered for a moment. His eyes were closed and the look on his face looked a lot like pain. McCoy froze.

"Am I hurtin' you, sweetheart?" McCoy whispered, stroking his cheek.

Chekov bit his lip and shook his head.

"What's the matter, Pasha? Tell me."

Chekov turned his face away. "Doctor..."

"Leonard. Call me Leonard. Talk to me, kiddo."

Chekov turned his face back and finally opened his eyes. McCoy was shocked to see tears glide silently down the sides of his face. "Leonard," Chekov whispered.

McCoy's heart felt like it was about to burst. He gathered Chekov in his arms underneath him as best he could, cradled him, and murmured, "Tell me what's wrong."

Chekov took a deep breath and tried to compose himself, blinking away his tears, sniffling and wiping the anguished look off his face. "Nothing. I am just... overwhelmed. I am..." His face began to crumble again and he leaned up to nuzzle at McCoy's cheek. "Sorry."

"No need for apologies. Just... what can I do?"

"This, what we are doing, is only one time, yes? We... we can't..."

McCoy pulled his face away so he could look at Chekov. Their eyes met and he could see everything the kid was thinking. No matter how hard Chekov tried to keep his emotions off his face, his eyes betrayed him. They looked sad and pleading and somehow resigned at the same time. McCoy's dick throbbed inside the kid. He was starting to think crazy things, thoughts that he would never in a million years seriously entertain if he wasn't completely drunk on the scent and sound and sight of this boy. Yes, it was only a one-time thing. They couldn't continue this after they left this room. It wasn't real. It wasn't _sane_. Chekov was 17 and McCoy was his superior. No, this had to end as soon as they stepped foot outside...

McCoy pushed into him until he could go no further, making Chekov groan. He arched his neck and shut his eyes, which only sent more tears down the sides of his face. McCoy began kissing his inviting neck, got annoyed when his lips ran into the collar, and he pulled the closure open at the back of Chekov's neck with one frustrated swipe, ripping the collar off and tossing it away. He then buried his face in Chekov's neck as he began to slowly fuck him.

"I like you, kid," he whispered. "I like you a hell of a lot."

"Like you too," Chekov whispered back.

"It's crazy, what you're asking."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Shhh, it's okay," McCoy cooed against his throat, kissing and murmuring both words and nonsense, trying to soothe Chekov as he fucked him faster, telling him over and over that it was okay, wanting so badly to say so much more, but holding back, knowing nothing good could come of him voicing anything that was in his heart just then. He used his body instead, putting all his passion into his thrusts.

McCoy felt the strongest orgasm he'd had in a long while coming on from a mile away, barreling down on him like a photon torpedo, but he forced himself to hang on just a bit longer, just a few more minutes, because Chekov sounded so wonderful that McCoy didn't want to fail him yet, wanted to give him as much pleasure as possible for as long as possible. Chekov's eyes were closed, he was panting as hard as McCoy was and he was murmuring in Russian.

"What are you thinking?" McCoy asked, completely out of nowhere. He had no idea why he'd asked, but then Chekov slowly opened his eyes and the almost mysterious desire in them rendered McCoy speechless.

"I am thinking," Chekov began, his words interrupted by his own pleasure, his eyelids fluttering and his voice quivering. "I am thinking that I... I... I could fall in love with you." And then his body tensed and he was coming again.

It was all too much for McCoy to handle; the words, the spasms of Chekov's body, the desperate clawing at his back. McCoy came too, whispering Chekov's nickname in his ear over and over.

 

* * *

McCoy was reluctant to let the kid go. He knew they had to get back to the ship soon; the virtual sky outside their window was apparently synchronized with real time and was darkening accordingly. And the _Enterprise_ had to be concerned about Chekov, even if the Palthusians had since explained themselves. But they were so cozy, nestled there together in bed. They'd since made love a second time and were now cuddling and kissing and murmuring to each other underneath the covers.

"We've gotta get you home," McCoy whispered. Chekov looked at him, a hint of worry in his eyes. McCoy knew what he was thinking. "It's ridiculous, kid. You know it is. We're not a good match."

"How do you know? We barely know each other."

"Doesn't take a genius to figure out that we'd make just about the oddest odd couple in history."

"Odd is good. What is wrong with odd?"

McCoy sighed. "Do you know what you're saying? Because I don't think you do."

Chekov pushed up onto an elbow and frowned down at him. "If there is a legitimate reason for us not to try, please say what it is. I would like to hear it."

"You mean besides the age difference?"

"Yes."

"Besides the fact that I'm your superior?"

"Yes."

"Besides the fact that you're technically still underage?"

"Yes, besides that too."

"Well, those are some pretty big ones, you know. We're in two very different places in our lives. I've already been married and divorced, I'm a father. You, you're still wet behind the ears, you've barely experienced anything."

"You can show me things. You can teach me so much."

"Well, I'm sure I could, but –"

"And you want to do this. You want me to convince you. That is it, isn't it?"

McCoy huffed. "I do not."

Chekov smiled as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to McCoy's lips. "I want to be with you," he whispered. "It doesn't have to make sense to work."

McCoy's resolve crumbled under the tender touch of Chekov's lips. Maybe the kid had a point. Marrying Jocelyn had made perfect sense, and look how that had turned out. Perhaps McCoy's instincts were all out of whack. He'd been following his own instincts all his life and where had they gotten him? Divorced and living in _space_.

"We can talk more once we're back on the ship," McCoy mumbled.

"Tonight? We can talk tonight? Alone in your quarters?"

McCoy chuckled and pulled Chekov back down against himself. "Yes, if you'd like."

His own optimism, how easily he laughed now, frightened him. He felt giddy and indulgent and like a teenager as he rolled Chekov onto his back and settled on top of him, making Chekov giggle as he sucked at the kid's neck. These were dangerous, irrational feelings, ones McCoy normally made a point to avoid.

He was so tempted to have another go at the kid right then and there, but he refrained. They had to go. Once they were dressed, McCoy tried the door again, conveniently, and unnervingly, finding it unlocked. Chekov was allowed to leave first, because the Palthusians had a few questions for McCoy, apparently needing to make absolutely certain that he had enjoyed his experience, to which McCoy grumbled, "Well, you're already inside my head. Can't you _tell_?" But they were insistent. McCoy didn't object further as Chekov was led away. Besides, he had a few choice words he wanted to share with the Palthusians about **a)** abducting Chekov and **b)** locking them both in the room until they'd performed. As much fun as McCoy had had, he was extremely disturbed by the circumstances he'd been forced into and he didn't want Chekov hearing the words he had selected to share with the Palthusians. He was still a kid, after all.

When he finally materialized in the _Enterprise's_ transporter room, Jim was there to greet him and he had his game face on. He stalked toward McCoy and asked, "You all right, man?"

"I'm fine," McCoy said as he stepped down off the pad and headed for the door with Jim close behind.

"Hey, hold up. What happened down there? We've been trying to get a hold of you for hours and the Palthusians wouldn't tell us shit."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," McCoy grumbled as he stalked through the corridor, heading for his quarters. "Was anybody aware that the Palthusians have technology that can disable communicators and phasers? Because they do."

"We didn't know until it happened. It must be a recent thing for them. Hey, hang on, are you okay?" Jim asked, now sounding a bit frustrated.

"I'm fine. Where's Chekov?"

"He's... on the bridge. Why?"

"Already?" McCoy shook his head. "Kid's a fucking machine. Did he even bother to shower?"

"Bones, will you stop for one second?"

McCoy stopped and turned to face Jim. "Is he all right? Did he say anything to you? Good god, tell me he didn't tell anybody anything."

"What? Who?"

"The kid, Jim. Is he all right?"

Jim frowned. "Chekov's fine. Why? Has be been sick or something?"

"What is wrong with you? What did he say when he got back? You must've given him the same 3rd degree you're giving me."

Now it was Jim's turn to look confused. "Got back from where, Bones?" he asked quietly.

"Chekov's been gone for hours."

"No, he hasn't. He's been right here." Jim cocked his head, one of his eyes narrowing slightly. "What'd they do to you, man? Did you take something?"

McCoy felt the color drain from his face. His eyes fell from Jim's as his mind replayed the last few hours. His surroundings faded away and he could no longer hear anything around him, not passing officers, not Jim's voice, not the subtle hum of the ship. All he could hear was the rushing of his own blood, the pounding of his own heart and a sickening little voice in the back of his mind taunting him, asking over and over: if it hadn't been Chekov, then what the hell was it that McCoy had spent the past couple of hours in bed with?

He stepped around Jim and headed in the direction opposite of where he'd been going.

"Bones. Bones! Where you going?"

"Bridge," McCoy said tersely.

"What for?" asked Jim as he hurried to keep up.

"You're sure he's been here the whole time? There wasn't a moment when he was out of your sight?"

"Well, yeah, sure there was, but not _hours_. Are you gonna tell me what happened down there?"

"No."

"Well, you're gonna have to file a mission report, you know that."

McCoy ignored him. He marched onto the bridge and stopped. Jim stopped next to him and McCoy could feel Jim's eyes on him, but he paid him no mind. He'd already found his target, the curly hair and striking profile of which was in perfect view from where he stood.

"Bones," Jim said quietly. "Will you look at me?"

"Not now," McCoy muttered. He stepped away from Jim, moving slowly towards where Chekov sat. Almost everyone on the bridge noticed him as he approached. Everyone except Chekov, who didn't take notice until McCoy was right next to him.

Chekov jumped a bit as he finally realized someone standing next to him. He looked up in surprise and then smiled.

"Dr. McCoy, you have returned," he said cheerfully. "We lost your frequency some time ago, but the Palthusians assured us you were okay."

McCoy grunted at that. Chekov's words barely registered. McCoy was too busy searching the kid's eyes. Chekov's smile faded as McCoy stared.

"Is something wrong, Doctor?"

His accent wasn't quite right, still pretty thick, but somehow not as pronounced. Did his hair look a little... deflated? A little duller maybe? His cheeks a little less rosy? His lips not as full?

Yes, everything was a little _less_ here, less than the fake Chekov, than his perfect, fantasy Chekov.

"No," McCoy said absently as he began to back away. "Nothing's wrong." He said nothing more as he spun around and quickly departed. Jim went after him, but even though he followed McCoy all the way to his quarters, he got nothing else out of him. McCoy locked himself inside and was thankful that he'd managed to keep from vomiting until he'd reached his own private bathroom.

 

* * *

Weeks passed and McCoy remained mum on the subject of his experience on Palthus III. He filed his mission report, and although he hated to have to lie on those things, he didn't see any way out of it this time. He certainly couldn't tell the whole truth. It was too incriminating, not to mention humiliating. He left Chekov out of it completely and said instead that what was offered to him was a generic, attractive, young female human replica, no one he knew, and that he'd been aware the entire time that she technically wasn't "real". The hell with how that made him look; he wasn't about to admit that he'd been fooled.

He still couldn't believe how completely real the fake Chekov had seemed. How could that not have been him? How could the Palthusians have duplicated him so perfectly, and so quickly? Everything about him had been dead on, from his accent to his funny little walk.

But they hadn't really been dead on. Everything had been slightly exaggerated, just that much more perfect; his eyes a bit bluer, his skin a bit clearer, his hair a bit blonder. Because that was how McCoy saw the kid in his head. That was how McCoy saw him when he jerked off to him at night.

One afternoon, McCoy was hiding in his office, happily avoiding Chekov at all costs, when Jim walked in without bothering to ring the door chime.

"Well, come on in, Jim," McCoy grumbled.

"You know," said Jim as though McCoy hadn't spoken, "I've been trying to figure out for weeks what the hell your deal is."

"Ah jeez," McCoy sighed. He got up, walked around his desk and headed out. Jim followed him out of Sickbay, into the corridor, talking all the way. McCoy knew Jim would follow, but he couldn't stay still for this conversation.

"I couldn't figure it out until I decided to have another look at your mission report," Jim said.

McCoy's stomach dropped. Had he said anything incriminating in his report? No, Chekov hadn't been mentioned at all. He tried to relax.

"This human replica you mentioned," Jim continued as he strode along next to McCoy. "You engaged in sexual activities with her, is that correct?"

"Say that a little louder why don't you?"

"You said you knew what she was, but you fucked her anyway."

"Not in so many words, but yes."

"Ha!" Jim exclaimed. "And that's where your report falls apart, at least from my perspective. Because you'd never, _ever_ in a million years, fuck something you knew from the start wasn't a real humanoid."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Are you quite finished?"

"Nope. That's only half the story. Okay, so you didn't realize she wasn't real. No shame in that, Bones, don't know why you're so weird about admitting it."

McCoy ground his teeth together. Did Jim really not know? Did he really have no idea how much McCoy hated being deceived, how humiliating it was for him?

"Well, don't worry about it. No one's ever gonna find out, 'cause no one knows you like I do. Starfleet has your report, and that's the end of it. For them. For me, not so much."

McCoy stopped walking and turned to him. "Will you get to the point if there is one?"

Jim grinned at him. "Chekov. You went right to him when you set foot back on this ship and it's been driving me nuts trying to figure out why."

"Is it that you don't have enough to do, Jim? Is that what this is about?"

"You kept asking if he was okay, if he'd said anything, you were shocked that he was on the bridge already, and really it's kind of obvious why; you thought he'd been down on the planet with you, but it turned out to be one of these human replicas. Well, sure, I'd figured that much out long before now, but what I couldn't figure out was why you wouldn't simply admit that? What could possibly have happened between you and Chekov down on that planet that you found too humiliating to tell me about? _Me_. Your best friend." Jim put on a mock pout. "I'm hurt, man."

"You're on thin ice, Jim."

"You fucked him, didn't you?"

McCoy said nothing.

"The human replica wasn't some generic female, it was Chekov. The Palthusians saw him inside your head, the thing you wanted most in the whole universe, so they gave him to you. And you fucked him. It. Whatever."

McCoy clenched his jaw and said, "And you can't figure out why I might not want to admit that to anyone, even you?"

Jim's expression softened and he stepped closer. "No, I know why." Jim scrutinized him for a moment. He cocked his head and quietly asked, "It was more than just sex, wasn't it?"

McCoy looked away.

"The look on your face when you left the bridge after confronting Chekov... I've never seen that look before, not on you. It was like fear and sadness and... blankness, I don't even know. Scared the shit out of me, actually. The fact you wouldn't tell me what was up freaked me out even more. Is it any wonder I've been obsessing about this a little?"

McCoy swallowed. He'd had no idea he'd frightened Jim. He hadn't intended that at all, and the fact that his face had betrayed him so blatantly was quite troublesome.

"I'm sorry," McCoy said quietly, sincerely. Jim patted his shoulder.

"'S all right. You... you okay?"

"I can't look at him, Jim."

"You really feel something for him, don't you?"

"Bah, I don't know," McCoy said with a wave of his hand. He stared off down the corridor at nothing. "He – the replica – told me that... that he could really love me. And I was happy to hear it."

"'Course you were, man, that replica was created to give you exactly what you wanted."

McCoy met Jim's eyes. "What I really want is for a 17-year-old to fall in love with me? Really?"

"Well... he is almost 18. Couple more months."

"You know what I mean, Jim." McCoy sighed. "It's true. I want him to want me, I want him to want to be with me, I want –"

Someone sneezed, someone just out of sight, and McCoy froze. He and Jim stared at each other for a moment and then turned their heads slowly around at the same time to look in the direction from which the sound had come. At first they saw no one, but a moment later a shoe appeared as their audience stepped out from behind a corner.

It was Chekov. Of course it was Chekov, McCoy thought sarcastically. It would have to be him.

Chekov looked nervously at McCoy, eyes as big and worried as ever, and he wrung his hands. "I am sorry, Doctor, Captain," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to listen. I heard my name and I..." He paused, mouth moving soundlessly for a moment as his brow furrowed. "I... I was down on the planet with you, Doctor? A copy of me?"

McCoy stared into Chekov's eyes for the first time in weeks and said nothing.

Chekov stepped closer. "You... you were intimate with this copy?"

McCoy shut his eyes and lowered his face.

"Bones," Jim said, squeezing his shoulder. "I know this is awkward, but talk to him."

McCoy roughly pulled his shoulder out of Jim's grasp, glancing sidelong at him and glaring.

"Bones, come on –"

"I don't like having my business spread around like gossip," McCoy hissed.

"This isn't gossip, no one else heard."

"If he heard it, somebody else might've! I can't believe I let you convince me to discuss this out here in the open like this."

"Nobody else heard," Jim repeated. "And this isn't just your business. This concerns him too."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yeah, it does. If you... did things with something that looked and acted enough like me to fool you, I'd sure as hell wanna know about it."

"Oh. Okay. Great. Fine." McCoy spun around and stalked off, calling back angrily, "Why don't you tell him all about it, then? Take the high road if you're so fucking concerned."

If the tables had been turned, if it had been Jim who'd been tricked the way McCoy had, McCoy would have said the same thing to him, that Chekov had a right to know. There'd be no question in McCoy's mind and he'd be sure to make his opinion, and his judgment, very clear to Jim.

Nevertheless, if the kid hadn't overheard, McCoy would never have said anything. But that wasn't an option anymore. So later on that evening McCoy stepped up to Chekov's door, hesitated for a moment and rang the door chime. When Chekov's voice admitted him from within, McCoy pressed another button and the door slid open.

Chekov's quarters were less neat than McCoy would have hoped (he scolded himself for caring; he and Chekov weren't even friends, let alone lovers, so he really shouldn't have cared at all), but looked just about right for a boy his age. The bed was unmade and there were various items of clothing on the floor next to it, not quite in a pile and not quite scattered either. Every flat surface was covered in things; PADDs, a few old fashioned books, a portable hologram generator, a microscope, and any number of other delicate looking little instruments that McCoy didn't recognize. The room was rather dim, and there were thin, transparent, flexible star charts littering the walls like posters, little pinpoints of light twinkling on them and making the entire room look like it was glittering. The only other light source was a powerful desk lamp sitting on the desk where Chekov sat hunched over his computer in the far left corner of the room, right by the bed.

McCoy stepped inside and the door slid shut behind him. Chekov didn't look up immediately. He held up a finger and said, "Hold on, one second." With his other hand he tapped away at the computer's touchscreen. McCoy was more than a little annoyed by this, but he was intruding on Chekov's personal time and his business wasn't urgent, no matter how badly he wanted to get it over with, so he kept quiet.

"Sorry," Chekov finally said, shutting off the computer screen and looking up at McCoy. His expression immediately changed from pleasant to shocked and he stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back so hard that it fell over. He swore under his breath in Russian as he bent to set the chair right. "Sorry, Doctor, it was rude of me to keep you waiting. I thought you were someone else."

"It's fine, Chekov."

Chekov straightened up and stepped toward him, looking uncertain and nervous. He looked a bit like what his double had looked like as he'd tried to convince McCoy that they needed to have sex to save the planet, all earnest and innocent. God, it sounded so lame; sex to save a planet? Was that really the kind of bullshit McCoy got off on?

Apparently so.

"Would you like to sit?" Chekov asked. McCoy glanced around. Chekov didn't have anything resembling a sitting area in his modest quarters, just the desk chair and the bed.

"I didn't plan on staying long," McCoy said. "I was thinking about what the captain said, and he has a point. You do have a right to know what happened on Palthus III."

Chekov almost immediately started blushing and he lowered his gaze. "Right. Uh... I really think we should sit for this."

McCoy nodded and Chekov gestured at the desk chair. McCoy sat and swiveled away from the desk to face the bed where Chekov took a seat. McCoy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and didn't look at Chekov as he spoke.

"How much do you wanna know?" he asked bluntly.

"Uh, I am not sure, sir. We – I mean you... had..."

McCoy waved a hand to stop Chekov from finishing that sentence. "I know what I did. I wanna know how much you wanna hear."

"You would be comfortable telling me everything?"

"No, I most certainly would not. But you have the right to hear it, so..." McCoy shrugged and stared at his left knee.

"You can tell me as much as you would like, sir."

McCoy hazarded a glance at Chekov's face and found the kid watching him with that same earnestness, and he was sitting a bit forward, toward McCoy. If body language was any indicator, Chekov seemed more interested than uncomfortable, so McCoy began to speak. He explained to Chekov the dilemma of the Palthusians, the threat of the wrath of their gods and how their well-being had hinged on McCoy's enjoyment of his payment. He told Chekov about the replica of the room inside his grandparents' home, about all of fake Chekov's reactions, how concerned he'd been about the Palthusians, how he had insisted that he and McCoy should be together when McCoy had been ready to bust the door down to go and yell at people instead. Chekov's brow furrowed as he listened. His replica's look of concern had been dead-on that day.

"The Palthusians," he said. "They are still at the mercy of these gods you speak of."

"Far as we know. Soon as I left the planet, they thanked us for our assistance and cut off all communication. They want nothing more to do with us and we can't interfere unless they want us to."

Chekov wasn't appeased. "That is terrible."

"I know. But there's nothing we can do."

"But their gods have not punished them again, right? We know this for sure? Because you... enjoyed yourself."

McCoy fidgeted at the mention of his indulgence down on Palthus III. He told Chekov, made it absolutely clear, that if fake Chekov hadn't been so insistent, nothing would have happened, and it was only when he'd finished his explanation that he came to the same conclusion that Chekov apparently did.

"So," said Chekov cautiously, "in your fantasy, I insist that we must be together. You are reluctant and I convince you."

"Yeah, that's right."

"Perhaps it is that you are uncomfortable with your attraction to me, yes? And it seems less strange if it is I who is the instigator."

It was true. Fake Chekov wouldn't have been so insistent if McCoy hadn't wanted him to be. That was McCoy's fantasy; to have the kid make the first move while convincing McCoy that it was okay.

"Made it feel less wrong, yeah," McCoy admitted.

Chekov nodded. "I see."

McCoy thought back to fake Chekov, how emotional he'd gotten during sex. The more McCoy thought about it, the more disgusted he was with himself. To think that what turned him on was the idea that his lovemaking skills were so amazing he could literally bring his lover to tears. Good god.

And it was perfect, wasn't it, having an incentive as huge as the safety of an entire planet to make it okay to be with the kid? Nothing short of the well-being of an entire race of people would have gotten McCoy to let himself have Chekov, and those bastard Palthusian thought-stealers had known it. He now wondered about the locked door. There had to have been another exit, perhaps inside the closet he'd never bothered to check himself. Or maybe if he'd simply asked, said out loud that he wanted the door opened immediately, it would have been. Being forced to fuck; yeah, that was part of McCoy's fantasy too. The Palthusians had known he wouldn't look too hard for a way out of that room.

"So, I convince you to be with me," said Chekov, "and... then what?"

"Well, I should mention that beforehand we had discovered some things inside drawers, some, uh... adult items."

Chekov cocked his head.

"You know," McCoy mumbled. "Sex toys. Restraints. Leather. Silicone. Some metal."

"We used these things together?" Chekov asked. McCoy looked up at him again, surprised at the ease with which the question came out of the kid's mouth. Chekov seemed to be relaxing more and more by the second.

"Sort of, yeah. I... put some things on you."

Chekov started blushing again and his lips curled up into a little smile. McCoy's back stiffened.

"And just what the hell is so funny, Ensign? You know, we can end this little chat right here and now."

"No, no. Sorry, sir. Nothing is funny. I am just... uh..." The smile on Chekov's face persisted, but he didn't look as though he wanted to laugh. "You like that sort of thing?"

"We ain't here to psychoanalyze me," McCoy said through clenched teeth. "Do you wanna know the details or don't you?"

Chekov sobered a bit. "Sorry, sir. I am not trying to analyze. I am just surprised. I would not have thought that you would like such things."

"You see a problem with it?" McCoy challenged.

"No, sir. It is interesting, actually. Tell me; is it that you find normal sex boring?"

McCoy sat up straighter, at first so taken aback by the question that he had no idea how to respond. When he finally found his voice, he firmly said, "No, _Ensign_ , I do not."

"I am sorry if I shouldn't ask. I am simply curious. Um... we are speaking off the record, yes?"

McCoy snorted. "Bit late to ask, but yeah, 'course."

"What is the appeal of that sort of thing? Why do you like it?"

Well, this conversation was taking an odd turn. Not entirely unpleasant, however, and besides, McCoy supposed the conversation had never _not_ been odd. So, he explained to Chekov the potential appeal of such activities, how they required complete trust and surrender, and how to some people that was extremely sexy.

"So, you would like for me to put my trust in you and... surrender to you," Chekov said.

"Again, we're not psychoanalyzing me here."

Chekov licked his lips and slid forward a bit more in his seat. "Did we do everything together? You were... inside of me?"

Hearing Chekov ask such a question was enough to make McCoy's head go fuzzy for a moment. He took a deep breath and forced himself to think clearly. "Yes, we did. And that's about it, really. Once we were finished, we were allowed to leave."

"But there is more, though. The way you looked at me when you came to me on the bridge that day... Is like you were expecting something that you didn't get."

Damn perceptive kid. "I thought you'd been down on that planet with me, Chekov. It had seemed _that_ real to me. Discovering the truth was a little jarring, y'understand."

"More than that, though," Chekov insisted. "What happened between us? What did I say to you?"

"What makes you think you said anything?"

"Well... I don't know. But it was your fantasy, and judging from what you have so far described, I was giving you things that you have wanted for a long time. You were emotionally affected by what happened, that much was clear, Doctor. I saw it in your eyes. I have never seen you look like that before."

McCoy fidgeted. He felt terribly exposed and was tempted to cut the discussion short and leave right away. But thinking about the awkwardness that would persist between them if they didn't hash all this out now almost made him cringe.

"I don't know, kid, you said a lotta things. You expressed a desire for a real relationship with me, despite my insistence that it was crazy. You... said you might be able to love me. I don't want you to love me," he quickly added. "I don't want a relationship with you, that's not what that was about. I just... wanted you to want those things. Just to stroke my ego. It's pathetic and I'm perfectly aware of that, so don't go gettin' all sassy on me."

Chekov grinned. "I was not going to get sassy, Doctor."

"Oh, I could see a little sass in your eyes just now."

Chekov snickered, his eyes twinkling as he looked at McCoy, and McCoy was rather annoyed that his stomach seemed to be fluttering in response. He had to remind himself that Chekov wasn't flirting. The kid was friendly, generally happy, if a little neurotic. He was the type that smiled easily. It wasn't flirting, it was just _him_. Besides, from what McCoy had seen, Chekov wasn't the most socially adept person on board. McCoy doubted he even knew how to flirt.

"Are we finished here?" McCoy asked. "You pretty much have all the embarrassing details and I've had quite enough humiliation for one day."

"I am glad you told me all of this."

"Are you? Well, that makes one of us, then."

"May I ask you something?"

McCoy sighed. "May as well."

"Thank you, sir. I would like to ask about where we left things? When we – I mean when you and my copy were finished and my copy left, what did you believe was going to happen when we were both back on the _Enterprise_?"

"Well, we were gonna talk, obviously."

"And say what?"

McCoy frowned. "What do you think? I was gonna tell you that you and I couldn't be together."

Chekov got a look in his eye that McCoy didn't care for, a sort of half disbelieving, half pitying look.

"The hell with this," McCoy muttered under his breath as he abruptly stood and stalked off toward the door, calling back over his shoulder, "We're finished here. I've told you everything there is to know. Do _not_ , under any circumstances, bring it up again, not with anyone else and not even with me."

"Dr. McCoy," Chekov called to him. "Please, wait."

McCoy wasn't sure what made him stop. His business here was finished, but something made him respond to the kid's voice. Morbid curiosity perhaps? He turned slowly back to face Chekov and found the kid stepping cautiously toward him.

"What?" McCoy growled.

Chekov licked his lips. "If, during the conversation we were to have once back on the _Enterprise_ , I had insisted that I wanted to be with you, what would you have said?"

"I would've said you weren't thinking straight and sent you on your way."

"And what if I had insisted further?" asked Chekov, continuing to approach.

McCoy eyed him suspiciously, taking a step back. "What are you gettin' at?"

"Well, I think that it is possible that you might have allowed me to talk you into continuing to see me. Why else would you not have said everything there was to say while we were still on the planet? Why wait until we were back on the ship?"

"I... I just... Stop coming at me!" McCoy finally snapped as he backed up against the wall. This entire scenario felt terribly familiar.

Chekov stopped a couple of feet away and shook his head. "You are so afraid," he said.

"It's not fear, kid, it's called common sense. Are you seriously hitting on me right now?"

Chekov smiled. "And a little slow on the uptake, I see."

McCoy raised his eyebrows and pointed a finger at him. "That sounded like sass to me, young man."

"Perhaps it was a little bit."

McCoy's eye was drawn to movement down below and he caught Chekov's hand moving toward him, reaching out for one of his own. McCoy's heart began to pound. The surreal feeling he'd experienced back on Palthus III returned. The twinkling lights of Chekov's star charts blinked in and out of existence all around in his periphery, making that dream-like feeling even worse. McCoy was glad for the wall he was currently pressed up against; he was beginning to feel cold, clammy and nauseous.

What the hell was happening? Had he ever actually left Palthus III? Maybe the scenario was still going, maybe it only seemed to be weeks later when it had really only been hours. All kinds of paranoid thoughts swirled through his head as Chekov took his hand. McCoy let it happen. Despite all his common sense, despite all his complaining, despite all his paranoia, he knew damn well that he would allow anything Chekov wanted to do next.

Chekov brought their hands up and interlaced their fingers, and he smiled at McCoy, a sweet little grin, looking not unlike a kid with a new toy.

"You are a very attractive man, Dr. McCoy," he said softly. His eyes wandered down from McCoy's face, across his shoulders and down one of his arms. "You are... big," he added a bit breathlessly.

McCoy felt like his entire body was quivering with nerves and adrenaline. He didn't trust his own voice, but he spoke anyway. "Ensign, you're very young. Quite a bit younger than me."

"I know... Would you like to come have dinner with me?"

Jesus, did the kid just ask him out on a date?

"Well, there's a terrible idea," McCoy finally replied.

"Perhaps. These things – er, dating and things like that – usually a bit iffy anyway, aren't they?"

"Iffy enough under the best circumstances, let alone when there's a 14-year age difference."

McCoy wondered if Chekov was even listening as Chekov dropped his hand, closed the gap between them and leaned in for a kiss. McCoy opened his mouth to protest, but ended up with a mouthful of inexperienced tongue instead.

Well, the kid felt real enough, though so had his double. But no, this kiss was different than the other first kiss had been; fake Chekov had been an excellent, confident kisser, and real Chekov, while still pretty confident, didn't have a clue what he was doing. McCoy's stomach relaxed, the nausea slowly fading away.

He felt Chekov's hands cupping his face, felt his body pressing against his own. McCoy couldn't push him away. He didn't want to. He put his hands on Chekov's waist, despite his better judgment. _"It doesn't have to make sense to work,"_ was what fake Chekov had said. Well, fake Chekov had come from McCoy's imagination, so those words, McCoy realized, didn't belong to anyone but himself.

When their lips finally pulled apart, McCoy whispered, "Bad idea, kid."

"You are free to say no to me if you like," Chekov pointed out. "I know it would be more sensible for us not to continue with this. Safer."

"Yeah, it would be... What was that you said about dinner?"

Chekov smiled. "I will get my shoes." He pressed a final kiss to McCoy's mouth, then pulled away completely and went across the room to his closet. "What I don't understand, though, is why it took place in your grandparents' home?"

"Oh." McCoy shook his head a bit, trying to get everything to stop feeling like a dream. "I thought about that a lot, actually. Didn't make a lot of sense at first, but now... I think it was a place that I always felt safe." He shrugged. "That's all. Good memories, that sort of thing."

Chekov smiled. "Ah. I understand." He got his shoes on and came back. "My grandmother calls me Pasha all the time, ever since I was a little boy. Now whenever anyone calls me that, I feel – what is the saying? – warm and fuzzy." He stopped before McCoy and smiled at him. "Something like that is what you feel in your grandparents' house, yes?"

McCoy returned his smile, relaxing a bit more. "Something like that, yeah." He'd known Chekov was somebody's Pasha. He'd been sure of it. Maybe Chekov could be his Pasha. And maybe it was crazy to hope for that, but at the moment he didn't care. He stepped closer and brushed his fingers against Chekov's cheek.

"I know this is kind of soon, but... may I call you that? Pasha?"

Chekov's cheeks turned rosy for a third time and he looked as though he'd just received the best compliment anyone could give him. "Yes, Doctor. You may call me that."

"Leonard," McCoy whispered, his breath wafting over Chekov's mouth.

Chekov gulped. "Leonard," he echoed, and he let McCoy kiss him once more before smiling impishly and exiting the room into the bright corridor. McCoy followed, glancing back into Chekov's dim, twinkly quarters before the door slid shut.

END


End file.
